Murder and Madness
by Twonk
Summary: A new CRIME fic. Not exactly Alice in Wonderland, but there are some very strong and creepy references.Basically there is this serial killer that only kills girls with blond hair and blue eyes... R&R!
1. A debatable concept

_Madness. A debatable concept. When one is mad, some claim that they do not know what they are doing. They could steal, torture, kill- then blame it all on the 'voices', the absence of the mind. They claim to have been taken over by some force, demon. Anything that won't pin the blame on them. We, in our educated, technological society should know they are lying._

_We choose to believe them. Choose to believe that their actions were not conjured from their own mind, but instead reaped from the divinity of hell! These people aren't mad- they are perfectly functional- genius' of deception. Say you hear voices and you're suddenly innocent- the only thing your guilty of is becoming a victim. Hah! Onlookers shirk from responsibility, let the chaos mount, let the destruction pile up. They see someone contaminated with such 'madness' and back away, fearful- only for their own skin. _

_How many people do you think have passed by with invisible blood on their hands? Allowed to walk free because they are incapable, too ignorant of their own capabilities to realise that they meant every slash, every tear of their massacre. They violate a living body-transform it into a corpse, then they deny it. I watch and hear- sickened. _

_At least I'll admit what I'm doing. And I'm the most insane of them all. I don't enjoy this. But it's part of _me._ I was destined to have a blade in hand, to carve and sculpt the flesh. I'm a carpenter. I make something normal, per functionary into a masterpiece. The human body, despite argument, is not remarkable. It needs a hand to beautify it, release the vital element inside. Allow the fountain of crimson to flow over sinful hands! The mad cackle to accompany the screams of a helpless victim. Such a cliché. But worth the effort. _

_Some call me a villain, but how am I when I just speed up inevitable fate? Everybody dies. Everybody has a last breath that snatches the throat, the last desperate lungful of air, the pull of heaven, the grasp of hell. _

_Stop the screaming sweetheart. Hurts, doesn't it? I could pretend it's over soon… but I've never been a liar. This is just the first part. Shush now Alice.. Shush, quiet… Alyssa, I'm sorry. Take part in the fantasy… so much easier, so much more gentle. You mean nothing to me. I can hurt you more, make pain sear through every limb- but why? I'm just doing my duty, I owe it to the world. No need for the unnecessary. _

_Planted my seed. Time for the fun part. Your eyes appear to be like blue sapphires, accentuated by such childish tears. I don't want them looking at me. So _accusing…

_What's it like, to be blind? Eternal darkness. No way out, only the confusion and the jumble of your own thoughts. I don't envy you. _

_I'll keep these. They may come in useful. A powerful message are eyes. A powerful message for a powerful purpose. _

_Nearly done- I told you I don't lie. Trust me. Trust me…_

_I'm the most insane of them all.___


	2. Alyssa Lindel

It was 10:30 the next day when Alyssa Lindel was discovered. At age 24, she was unusually beautiful- a wisp of a woman with a crown of golden hair, sunny smile and remarkably stunning, blue eyes. Well loved among her neighbourhood, it was a day of sheer grief when her body was found in her flat.

A friend had decided to visit Alyssa at about 10 o'clock on that Saturday morning. She claims that she reached the flat at 10: 20 and found the door open. The friend was alarmed by this. She had known Alyssa for over 10 years- and during that time, Alyssa had never been so irresponsible. Curiosity aroused, the friend entered the domain.

The first thing she noticed was that Alyssa's lock had been forced. Shards of metal littered the floor- as if somebody very brutal, intent on getting a prize had broken the catch in desperate haste. The friend next noticed the amount of wreckage in the hallway. All mirrors, she claimed, were smashed, a vase of flowers had been up-ended and pages from a book of nonsense poetry were scattered as far as she could see. Alyssa's particular favourite poem : _Jabberwocky_ had been pinned to the notice-board.

He friend claimed that she had called Alyssa's name several times, before entering her bedroom. It was then she saw the body. It had been mutilated- the eyes had been cut out, her mouth had been slashed into a grotesque grin, and there were four knife slashes in her chest- which were later identified to have formed the letter 'W'. The only clue the slaughterer had left was a single playing card, placed carefully on Alyssa's body- The Queen of Hearts. No other traces- no hair or clothes fibres could be found. Forensics are expected to make a full search of the flat for any other possible leads.

The friend then says that she passed out- not surprising under the circumstances. She reawakened at about 10:37 when she made her phone call to the police.

Detective Jacob Rye answered the call, and was greeted with one word: murder.


	3. Ruthie Rye

It hadn't been a great week for the police station. A whole team of forensics had gone to the Lindel woman's flat, and half of them had called in sick the next day. It was bloody sacrilege. They choose to do that job, why can't they bloody do what they're paid for? Jacob Rye was in no mood for such games. If they couldn't handle the blood, then they shouldn't even bother turning up to work.

Stressed, he ran a hand through his dark hair. The forensics that _had_ tried to do their best, couldn't find anything. No hair, no clothes fibres, no fingerprints. The murderer was obviously wearing gloves. And possibly some sort of rubber suit. A chill ran down Rye's spine. How could anyone plan a murder so effectively? How could _anyone_ calculate the exact time and manner of which they were about to perform the ultimate sin? Rye didn't believe in God- he had seen way too much shit for that- but he did believe that in something. Hell. And by God, this killer had earned his way a one way ticket. Again, the detective's fingers combed through his locks. This was becoming a nervous habit.

Rye was about thirty- but with the air of a man much older. It was the profession did it to you. As a detective you always see far too much of the things you don't want to see. By all means, you get used to it. But is 'getting used' to something worth selling your soul for? Rye couldn't remember the last time he had relaxed, couldn't remember the last time he had had genuine fun. His mind was far too focused on some case… he scared women away with the set jaw and thoughtful look in his eye. He wasn't ugly- on the contrary, Jacob Rye could be described as very handsome. His brown eyes matched his dark hair, his skin was pale and flawless. But his expression… it never changed. Cold, hard, stony. He could walk into a room and you could feel the atmosphere dim and die. People were scared of him. Scared to chip away at that mask and see the pool of harrowing emotions inside. Everybody knew about Rye.

He had had a wife. A beautiful wife who really made Jacob feel _alive_. It didn't matter how hard a case was, or how much death he had witnessed that day, Jacob could go home and feel the joys of life spread slowly through his veins. Ruthie could make anybody glow. You only had to speak with her to feel her magical touch in your heart. To be touched by her- even if it was only a hand on your shoulder- was like a kiss from Venus herself. Many had loved her, but it was Jacob who had got her. Ruthie Rye. It was _meant. _

Then one day, Ruthie announced that she had something special to say. She had invited all their friends, and both their families, over for dinner and desert. It was quite unexpected- she asked Jacob on a Friday, while both of them were entwined in bed. His strong arm was cradling her, and he thought she had never looked so sweet.

"_Jay?" She had always called him Jay, not Jacob. _

"_Yes, Ruthie?" He pulled her closer to him, inhaling her happiness, her sweetness, her freedom. She giggled and looked into his eyes, her own bright with some unknown excitement and ecstasy._

"_I've organised a dinner for Tuesday night. Both our families, all of our friends. Would you care to be present?" He loved it when she teased him for working too hard. _

"_What's the occasion?" Jay tried to act as if he would only be there if it was very important, but he was fooling no one. He would do anything for Ruthie. Anything for that hit of feeling alive. _

_Ruthie had just laughed, sunshine entangled with her delight. "You'll find out." She buried her face into his chest, and soon her breathing fell to slow and methodical. Jacob cradled her like a child, emotions of exhilaration threatening to overtake him. He loved her. Before he met this woman, this Ruthie, he swore he couldn't love. Love? With all the crime, hatred and evil enveloping the world? Impossible. He looked tenderly at his wife, her bambi eyelashes spread on her cheeks. She had saved his soul. A cliché- but weren't clichés called that for a reason? They happened all the time- and by God he was glad that they did. _

_Desert- a homemade tiramisu. Ruthie was standing up, and her eyes had taken on that joy again. "People!" Her voice came across as warm as summer breeze. "I have an announcement to make!"_

_Everybody looked at her enquiringly, some still stuffing chocolate and cream into their mouths. "I'm pregnant!"_

_There is no need to describe the scene. All that can be said was that Jacob Rye would have given his life for Ruthie then. Anything to protect her and her unborn child. _

Six months passed, and Ruthie was beginning to show. Yet she was never snappy, or greedy like so many other mothers. She ate what she thought was right, continued with gentle exercise, and remained, in Jacob's eyes, as delightful as ever. You can go two ways with pregnancy. A screaming wreck, complaining constantly, using "my condition" as an excuse to not get your (growing) ass of the sofa… or you can glow. Ruthie glowed like the brightest star.

But then it changed. Ruthie became more withdrawn, and began to get snappy- something Jacob had never seen before. When he tried to touch her, she shrugged away- "Get _off_ me!". Of course, he put the change down to the pregnancy. He didn't expect…

_Ruthie was sitting by the phone, chewing her nails- a habit that had developed quite recently. It annoyed the hell out of Jacob- to come home and see his once perfect wife stare into the distance and bite, bite, bite… she didn't even look at him anymore. She looked through him as if he was a ghost she had no interest in seeing. Every time the phone rang she would grab it, then sign in obvious relief when it was for her husband. Jacob suspected an affair. That would explain the sudden distance, the nervousness, the slow but steady loss of weight… _

_He had got home early from work. In an unusually cheerful mood, he had flung the door open, and was about to embrace his wife- complaining or not- when he saw something he never wanted to see again. _

_Ruthie. Clutching the phone to her ear and crying. Not delicate tears, but torrents- rivers. Slowly, she was rocking forwards and backwards- getting quicker as she got more agitated. The fingers grasping the phone looked more like claws- Jacob thought he had never seen someone so thin. _

"_Ruth?" She stared up at him and dropped the phone with a sickened cry. He snatched at it. Nothing, just the faint buzz in the background. He turned to his wife, for the first time furious. _

"_Who did you call?" She stared at the floor, her dark hair falling over her face. In a burst of rage he grabbed her and shook her shoulders again and again. "Tell me!"_

_What she did shocked him. She gazed right into his eyes and smiled. But it wasn't comforting or sunny- the one he knew so well. There was real madness in that smile, a real… _

_She pushed past him and ran out of the door. After the first six hours, Jacob went to look for her, patrolling the streets, searching high and low… _

_Three days later he reported her to the police. Finding her with his colleagues by his side didn't take long. Her body (or what was left of it) was found on a deserted beach cove five miles away from their home. She had obviously jumped off the cliffs. Ruthie always said she could fly…_

Jacob never found out what led to Ruthie's suicide, but a quick test showed that she had been taking copious amounts of heroine- probably for years. The effects of her being pregnant and the drugs…

He never showed grief. Not since the day of the funeral where he had really broken down. _"Why? Why didn't she trust me? I could have helped her. I COULD HAVE SAVED HER FUCKING LIFE!"_ Instead he bottled it all up and battled the crime office day after day. People were afraid of breaking the mask. Ha. No one could break the mask. He had perfected it. Worn it too long…

"Detective Rye." It wasn't a question, it was a command, brisk, ready for business. He turned from his desk, and saw a woman standing in the doorway. Short- but she looked tough. She was foreign- possibly Puerto Rican- with her dark skin and jet curls pulled back into a severe pony tail. She didn't wait for an answer, just stepped into his office and offered him her hand. Bemused, Rye took it.

"Detective Lias March." Her handshake was strong- obviously developed from a job dominated by men. Jacob felt weak in comparison.

"Pleased to meet you?" This was a question- how _did_ he feel? He never got visitors. Friends and even family gave up ages ago.

"What do you have?" Lias began to rifle through his papers, his observations and his reports. "Interesting… is that it?" She looked at him, her eyes sharp ad expectant.

A thrill of annoyance ran through Jacob's spine. Who did this 'Lias March' think she was? He always worked alone, he never shared…

"What are you doing here?" He ignored her question and stared her straight in the eye- determined to intimidate her like he did to even the toughest men. To his surprise she stared straight back.

"I'm here to kick some psycho's butt. Think you've got problems? They're about to be solved."

**NB: Ruthie was a complete Mary Sue and I'm sorry. But it needed to be done to get the full 'sympathy for Jacob factor'. No more perfect people. I promise. And the next chapter there WILL be more action… think of this as an introduction. Till next time XD**


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